


Never Here, Never Far

by athena_crikey



Series: Reichenbach [7]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 12:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12653946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey
Summary: Conan pulls in a favour left over from the kidnappings.





	Never Here, Never Far

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as a Christmas gift for ConceptKiller on LJ.

It doesn’t bother Conan that Kid used him – that was what he signed up for when he got out of bed in the middle of the night to meet the thief. What does bother him is that the thief beat him again, and that he got absolutely nothing out of a case that might have given him the leads he needs to close the Black Organization down once and for all. He can’t begrudge the outcome; that all hostages were rescued safely is amazing. But it eats away at him all the same.

Kid, despite his profession, operates on a strict honour code. Legitimate stones are returned, no one is ever seriously hurt, and favours are repaid. Kid can’t give him back the opportunity to take down the Black Organization. But he can at least provide compensation for Conan’s unrewarded time and effort. 

Conan doesn’t want that compensation – doesn’t want any favours from the thief. But as time ticks on and it seems to him that Ran is beginning to drift away, he realises he may need it. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------

It takes two months of following heist notices – Kid only puts out about one a month – for him to find one he can actually get to without raising suspicions. He gets Professor Agasa to take him to Tokyo on the Friday afternoon, ostensibly on an annual check-up to his doctor, and then takes off to the scene of the heist. 

The cops, impressively, are there before him, but not too many readers appear to have figured out the code. Conan didn’t have the time or the resources to work out how Kid intends to steal his target – a sapphire necklace – or consider how to stop him. What he does do is make sure to get himself well within what he predicts to be the thief’s line of sight when he shows up.

Kid swoops in just after midnight, costume so white as to be blinding in the police flood-lights. Despite them he circles low on the breeze, casing the building while the cops threaten him over the loudspeaker. The threats have no perceptible affect on the thief, but nor do the air currents. Although the glider moves with them, Kid’s body remains in the same exact position relative to it, a stiffness even a very strong man would have trouble achieving. Conan drops his eyes from the sky to the windows, and sure enough sees a pursuit already underway inside. 

With a dummy in the air, it makes sense that Kid will escape on foot. He’s only begun to calculate the odds associated with each exit when he hears a tinkle of breaking glass, and Inspector Nakamori bellowing “ _Stop him!_ ” at the top of his voice. Half the cops on the ground take off in a sprint towards the west door. Conan heads in the opposite direction.

The east exit was guarded, but while the men assigned to it are still there, they’re both catching up on some shut-eye. Above them, Kid slips off a gas mask with a broad grin.

Conan skids to a stop, raising the targeting hairs on his watch and aiming straight for the Kid’s heart. The thief turns at the sound of his footsteps; his smile doesn’t falter. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here, Detective. I didn’t realise you were taking an interest in Tokyo.” Although his tone is carefree and breezy, Kid’s not lounging and he’s got his hands out and his back straight. Ready to run in an instant. 

“I’m not. I wanted to talk to you. About April. Meet me here in an hour.” He produces a piece of paper and holds it out cautiously. Kid raises a curious eyebrow, but takes it between two fingers with the grace of a professional card sharp. 

“And if I’m busy, Detective?”

“Then cancel.”

“Che, how cold.” From the distance comes the sound of cops shouting, growing closer. Kid looks up while pocketing the paper. “I suggest you leave,” he says, and with very little ceremony (for him) disappears in a cloud of smoke. 

Conan follows his advice.

\-------------------------------------------------------

The meeting point is his hotel room. It’s not a spot Kid could ever feel comfortable with – only one exit, cameras all over the place, and definitely not neutral territory – but time’s short and Conan’s already risked enough by going out at midnight on his own once tonight. If the cops pick him up, it’ll get back to the old man and Ran eventually and he’ll be grounded for the foreseeable future. Besides, Kid owes him. And, more pertinently, he’s a cocky bastard.

It’s 1:14 when the door opens. It was locked, but of course that’s not a problem for his visitor. 

Kid’s dressed as a middle-aged salary-man, in a cheap suit and dark-rimmed glasses and carrying an unwieldy briefcase. “I’m here,” he says, in his usual arrogant voice. 

Kid is the only one with anything to lose in this situation, but nevertheless Conan can’t bring himself to let his guard down around the thief. He greets the apparent salary man standing, in a t-shirt that leaves his watch easily-accessible. Kid shuts the door behind him and lounges up against the hallway wall.

“Well Detective?”

“I want a favour,” grits out Conan, eyes flat. Kid’s eyebrows shoot up in an expression of false surprise that doesn’t suit his current face at all.

“A favour? And what makes you think I owe you one?”

“Because I did all the work on breaking the kidnapping case, and then you dumped me. Given the stakes,” he continues, when Kid seems about to interrupt, “I’m not criticising. But you got a hell of a big break for nothing. The fact that you showed up here says you know it.”

Kid’s still for a second, and then shrugs. “Fine. Say I do. What did you have in mind? My goods are a little out of your price range.” He waves his hand, producing the shimmering sapphire necklace held with a jewel between each finger, and then makes it disappear again with another wave. 

Conan narrows his eyes, and sets his shoulders. “Nothing like that. I want you to make a video. As me.”

For a minute, Kid gapes. And then he bursts out laughing, a loud uproarious laughter that doubles him over. “You – you want me to impersonate _you_? On _film? Bahahaha!_ ”

Conan raises the watch and pops the targeting site. Kid straightens and wipes fake tears out of his eyes, waving his hands in front of him. “Okay, okay. Not a joke.” He still snickers quietly for a few more seconds. Conan hefts the digital camera.

“One minute of your time for half a day of mine and your case solved. You’re an actor, should be simple for you.” He lifts half a page from the table beside him.

The majority of Kid’s amusement evaporates, and he glances thoughtfully at the paper and camera for a minute before nodding cautiously. “So long as it doesn’t incriminate me in any way, fine.”

“You’re not mentioned.”

“And after this, we’re even. I can’t be perpetually running favours for you, Detective. It puts a crimp in my style,” he adds, leering.

“Believe me, I don’t like it anymore than you.”

“Ouch.” Kid grins, and walks over. Takes the paper from him, and reads it, eyebrows rising as his eyes scan the page. “Seriously? You want me to say _this?_ ”

“Yes.”

Kid puts it down on the table, and looks down at him with a hard eye. “You’re sure, Detective?” he asks, tone flat and serious.

Conan stares back silently, eyes level, until the thief finally nods in resignation.

“Alright. If you’re sure.” Kid straightens and puts his case on the table. Opens it to reveal a mess of make-up, wigs, masks and unmarked boxes and jars.

“One more thing,” says Conan, crossing his arms.

Kid glances down.

“Afterwards, you never mention this to anyone. Including me.”

“I may be infuriating, Detective, but I’m not cruel,” answers Kid softly, and turns back to his box.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Conan brings the DVD into the apartment with the mail when he comes home from Tokyo the next morning, his face pale and smudges under his eyes. Ran gives him a disapproving look as she takes it from him.

“Mou, I told you not to stay up too late. Look at you – you look like a tanuki. You’d better go straight to bed.”

“There’s something from Shin’ichi-nii-chan,” protests Conan. She purses her lips at the distraction but looks down all the same, flipping through the junk mail and coming up with the envelope with the fake American post-mark. She opens it carefully at the end, and pulls out the disc in its clear case, eyes widening. 

Conan creeps discreetly away to the far edge of the couch where she can’t see him, and crouches there while she puts the disc in the DVD player and turns on the TV.

The backdrop is the hotel room wall, with an empty chair and table in front of it. There are a couple of maps on the table spread apparently at random, so that some of the names can be read: San Francisco, Los Angeles, Seattle. 

In the background, someone clears his throat. Then Shin’ichi – or more accurately someone who looks exactly like him – rounds the camera in a pair of jeans and a canvas jacket. He sits down on the chair with his wrists resting on his knees, hands hanging loose between them, and smiles awkwardly at the camera.

“Yo, Ran. I don’t know what time it is there, but here it’s almost nine at night.” He leans forward slightly.

“I – uh – I know it’s been a while since I called. It’s hard on cases, moving around all the time, never really knowing… it’s hard to call sometimes. I don’t mean remembering to. I mean…” Shin’ichi looks away from the camera, chewing at his lip for a second; his hands twitch. When he looks back it’s with a lower, more cautious expression. “It’s hard talking to you, Ran, when I can’t be there. It’s hard feeling like I’m close to you for a couple of minutes, and then knowing as soon as I hang up that I’m so far away that I can never – that I can’t be there with you.” He runs a hand through his hair. 

“Ah – it doesn’t matter. I just wanted you to know – it’s not that I don’t call because I don’t ca – miss you.” He swallows, and gives a cocky grin that’s just a hint too uneven at the corners. “Happy Tanabata, Ran.”

Shin’ichi waves, then stands up and reaches around the camera. The screen goes dark.

Much as he drives Conan nuts, he has to admit the bastard’s an amazing actor. He couldn’t have done it so well himself. Of course, that’s Kid’s best asset right there: he’s so good at imitating people he’s almost _better_ than the real version. The kind of skill that causes awe, and also the urge to punch him in the gut.

On the TV, the screen’s black. Conan turns and opens his mouth to say something. And closes it again instantly as he catches sight of Ran.

She’s holding both hands over her mouth, fingers meeting in a triangle tip over the bridge of her nose. They don’t hide the tears falling.

Conan swallows painfully, fingers digging into the side of the couch, and says nothing. She doesn’t want Conan. As he slips away, he hears the video start again. 

He wanted to cheer Ran up, and at heart he knows he’s probably succeeded. He just didn’t expect it to make him so miserable.


End file.
